


finding home

by sharkfish



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel (Supernatural), Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, NO MPREG :), Omega Dean, Porn With Plot, Smut, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 19:43:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9782534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkfish/pseuds/sharkfish
Summary: “Hello Dean. This is Castiel Novak from Tran and Tran. I know this is highly irregular and extremely inappropriate, but I…” There’s a long pause where Castiel just breathes. “I was concerned about your condition. Please let me know if there’s any way I can assist you. You may call or text this number.”Yeah, alpha. You can assist me.





	

Dean isn’t sure how he got himself in this situation: in a stuffy bar full of lawyers and businessmen, the alpha stink overwhelming, surrounded by Sam’s coworkers -- including a brunette whose name he can’t remember and who can’t seem to stop inching her hand up his thigh. Her stench is all alpha, too, like stale cigarette smoke, and all he wants is to get out of here. But he promised Sam he would hang around and have at least one beer with him -- if only Sam would show the fuck up so he can get this over with. 

For the sixth time, he takes the woman’s hand and gingerly removes it from his leg, giving her a tight smile as he does so. There’s no way she can’t smell his discomfort, even if he hasn’t given her enough hints the size of Texas. This is Sammy’s first big job, though, and Dean can’t be the one to blow it for him, even if “fuck everything up” might as well be Dean’s middle name. 

The hand is starting to inch towards his crotch again when Dean spots the top of Sam’s moose head towering above the other people milling about. A rush of cool air follows Sam through the door, and the smells of all the over-aggressive alphas in the place disappear. Instead, Dean’s nose catches something else: a smell like thunderstorms, like spring lightning. He cranes his neck as he scents the air, but all he can see is the top of Sam’s mop navigating through the crowd. This is nothing like Sam’s smell, which complements his own to the point they hardly even notice each other’s scents; it’s entirely new and it hits Dean like a ton of bricks. 

He feels the first trickle of slick leave him, and he can only thank god that he was out of clean boxers and ended up in one of the extra-thick heatbriefs today. 

Sam finally navigates his way to the table and begins shaking hands all around. The brunette’s name is Amara. Sam apologizes profusely for being late, saying, “Castiel left his lights on this morning so I had to give him a jump before we could head over.” 

As if on cue, the lightning-scented alpha arrives to the table as well. He does the same hand-shaking ritual -- didn’t these people just see each other an hour ago? Dean thinks -- but when he comes to Dean, he pauses. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” 

“Oh, how rude of me,” Sam says in his suck-up voice. “Dean, this is Castiel. Castiel, this is my brother, Dean.” 

“I’ve heard much about you,” Castiel says. His eyes are the same color as some sea Dean’s only seen pictures of and can’t possibly think of the name to right now. 

“I hope at least a couple good things,” Dean says, trying for his usual bravado and charm but falling flat. 

Sam gives Dean the mildest form of bitchface ever -- the ones he saves for moments like this, where he can’t completely turn into a bratty little brother -- while Castiel says, “All good things.” 

Amara’s hand is on Dean’s thigh again, squeezing, and Dean isn’t sure he’ll make it through a beer. Instead, he grabs a waitress and orders a whiskey. Sam’s full bitchface makes an appearance for a millisecond, but then Castiel orders the same for himself and the tension seems to leave Sam’s shoulders. At least Dean isn’t the only lush at the table. 

The buzz of conversation picks up around the table again, lawyer talk, except now Cas’s deep, rough voice has joined in and Dean’s getting wetter. He doesn’t sleep with alphas, never has, but right now he wouldn’t mind being ordered around by that voice. His body clearly agrees.

Dean drinks fast, praying he can disentangle himself from this nightmare of a social outing, but Castiel only sips. 

During a lull in the conversation, Castiel leans towards Dean and murmurs, “Can I speak to you privately for a moment?” 

Oh, fuck. What has Dean done now? He tries to backtrack through what few things he’s said, looking for the part where he offended Castiel, but he’s been mostly staring into his drink while Amara leers at him, not speaking. “Sure,” he kind of squeaks out, and Gabriel slides out of the booth to let Dean out. Escaping from Amara is a relief at least. 

“Outside?” Castiel says. The bar has gotten louder even since he and Sam first arrived. Dean practically has to read Castiel’s lips, but his voice does have a way of pushing all other noises out of the way. Dean really likes that voice. 

Dean and Castiel weave through the crowd. It’s chilly outside now that the sun has fully set, and Dean pulls his jacket tighter around himself. Castiel is wearing this ridiculous oversized trenchcoat, he just now notices, and the suit underneath doesn’t fit much better. At least the tie isn’t ugly like the ones Sam wears. 

“Dean,” Castiel says. He pauses as a group passes just by them, the alpha and omega in the group turning their heads to sniff curiously at Dean. “Surely you know it is unwise to visit a primarily-alpha establishment while you are entering heat.” 

Dean jerks back like he’s been slapped. “I don’t -- I’m not --” but even as he’s sputtering, he knows he’s starting to press his luck with the heatbriefs. It’s just that Castiel smells… 

“I assure you,” Castiel says, “that you do and you are.” 

“Oh, fuck.” Dean is so fucked. The cold wind has sobered him up, but it’s a long walk back to his car, and now every alpha that passes by is scenting at him. 

“Perhaps it would be best for you to head home.” 

“You think?” Dean scoffs, then covers up his face with his hands, mumbling “oh, fuck” again. If he runs, he’ll be chased, and he’s not sure he can outrun every alpha that passes by and make it to his car unscathed. But he can’t walk, either; they can all smell his pathetic need and alphas just take what they want without regard to omegas. No wonder Amara wouldn’t keep her hands off of him. 

“Let me escort you to your vehicle,” Castiel says. 

“What, so we’ll be all alone?” 

Castiel looks offended, but his voice is quiet when he says, “I’m not Amara.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts typing out a text. “I’ll let Sam know you aren’t feeling well and I will make sure you got home safely.” 

So now Sam knows. Great. 

“Fine,” Dean grinds out.

He points the direction where he parked Baby, and together he and Castiel begin to walk. They don’t speak; Dean just concentrates on not feeling the drip of slick that’s sliding down the inside of one thigh. 

As they near the car, Dean says, “I’m not an idiot. I’m on -- I mean, I’m usually on -- I take suppressants. Usually.” 

“It’s none of my business, really,” Castiel says, his voice strained. 

“I just wanted you to know. That I don’t make a habit of… this.” 

“Will you be able to make it home safely?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “I’ll be fine from here. Thanks for the escort.” He doesn’t mean to sound bitter -- he is truly thankful to have a kind alpha at his side in this state -- but that’s how he sounds all the same. 

“You’re welcome,” Castiel says. If he notices Dean’s rudeness, he doesn’t let on. 

“Goodnight, Castiel,” Dean says. 

“Goodnight, Dean.” 

As Castiel turns away, the wind changes and Dean gets one more whiff of him. The same smell as when the skies start yellowing, when you wonder if it’ll be a tornado or just a thunderstorm. The smell of summer rain. 

Dean inhales deeply, then climbs in Baby and heads home. 

 

The next day is the beginning of hell. Dean isn’t used to this, can’t quite get ahold of his symptoms -- he spent the night cold and then hot and then cold, woke up with his sheets wet with sweat and slick, woke up needing. 

Dean’s an early riser, but he manages to fall back asleep after calling in at the garage. He’s never had to use his heat time off before and he can barely work his mouth around the words. The shame sets hard and low in his stomach, near where the need flares up in his groin. 

His phone wakes him up, Kansas singing Carry On My Wayward Son, a song he and Sam used to scream-sing on long road trips with Johnny W. The number on the caller ID is unfamiliar so he lets it go to voicemail, but for once he listens immediately. 

“Hello Dean. This is Castiel Novak from Tran and Tran. I know this is highly irregular and extremely inappropriate, but I…” There’s a long pause where Castiel just breathes. “I was concerned about your condition. Please let me know if there’s any way I can assist you. You may call or text this number.” He repeats the number, like Dean can’t see it on his missed calls, and then hangs up with a final shaky breath. 

_What the fuck?_ Dean wonders. 

But the other thing he wonders: _if there’s any way I can assist you._

_Yeah, alpha. You can assist me._

The thought comes out of nowhere. Sure, Castiel smells like nothing Dean has ever experienced, but that doesn’t mean anything. Some people just smell better than others, and after sitting in that alpha stench of the bar, anyone kind would probably smell just as good. 

Dean throws the phone to the other side of the bed and groans. Just the sound of Castiel’s voice has him nearly gushing and he breaks out into a sweat again. His dick is hard as rock. He wants to hold out, keep telling himself that he’s not owned by this heat, but it’s not long before he’s got one hand stroking and three fingers inside himself. 

He comes, and it feels good, but it’s not enough, never is enough. He needs to be fucked and knotted. He needs to feel an alpha coming inside him, breaking apart over his body. He needs an alpha to call his own. 

He jerks off again an hour later, and then again a couple hours after that. In between he watches reruns of Dr. Sexy on Netflix even though he’s seen the whole series at least four times. It’s a comfort thing -- he first watched it after he and Lisa broke up, cried at all the saddest storylines, though he will never admit it. This time he can’t find that catharsis. Instead he just wants to jerk off to images of Dr. Sexy and Dr. Steamy -- except in his head with his eyes closed, they morph into a man in an oversized suit with eyes like icemelt. He comes murmuring Cas, Cas, Cas. 

 

Thank god it’s Saturday so he doesn’t have to call in again. His symptoms are in full-swing, anyway, and he doesn’t think he could manage to pant out his reason for missing another day of work. 

Dean doesn’t own a fake knot. He’s always been perfectly happy with his hands and the betas he picks up in hole-in-the-wall bars down on Red River, but then again, he’s usually on suppressants. Now his hand and fingers are just cruel jokes. He presents on knees and elbows, face shoved in a pillow while he easily fucks himself with four fingers, but he’s having trouble finding even the tiny release of self-orgasm. 

He spends all night trying anyway, thinking he’s going to chafe himself raw if he keeps fucking into his fist, but he just ends up frustrated, feverish, and exhausted. 

Morning brings a text from Sam: _Dude, are you ok?_

_Yeah I’m fine. Call you later_

And then, probably the dumbest thing he’s ever done in a long life of dumb decisions, he pushes the New Message button and enters Castiel’s phone number. 

_Need you, alpha_

Dean is touching himself again when the answer comes in. _Are you eating? Are you staying hydrated? I can bring food._

_I just need you_

Another long pause before a response. Dean thinks he’s going to go insane from the waiting, the anticipation. His body is responding very favorably to the idea of an alpha in his home, a rumpled dark-haired beauty, and he finally comes. 

_What is your address?_

Dean types it out quickly, double-checking for any mistakes, and then collapses back into the sheets. He’s cold again. Needs someone to warm him up. 

_I’ll arrive in 15 minutes._

Dean realizes suddenly that he’s disgusting -- covered in slick and sweat and come -- and his teeth are unbrushed and his hair is a disaster. He rushes through a shower, denying his hard cock and gushing ass the attention they need, and instead wraps a burgundy robe around himself and wills the hard-on to go down before Castiel shows up. 

It takes Castiel thirteen minutes and some seconds to knock on the door. Not that Dean’s been watching the clock or anything. Not that Dean has been pacing in the living room waiting. Not that he needs with an intensity that has him breathless. 

Dean opens the door, and Castiel starts with, “I apologize for taking so--” but then he stops, nostrils flaring and eyes beginning to turn red. 

“Need you, alpha,” Dean says, brokenly. 

“Yes,” Castiel says, his voice steady. “I can smell you.” 

Dean whines low in his throat, his body alternately singing -- _an alpha so near!_ \-- and crashing -- _but not touching him!_ “Please,” he says. 

“I brought you some lunch,” Castiel says. He holds up a take-out bag. But Dean can see him still scenting the air, see his hand shaking minutely. “And Gatorade.” He holds up his other hand, holding one of those big containers of powdered Gatorade, fruit punch flavor. 

Dean doesn’t have the mind to say “thank you.” Instead he holds the door open wider, his cock impossibly hard against his belly, barely covered by his robe. There’s slick trailing down the inside of his thighs, sliding over his calves in drops and streams. 

Just inside the door, Castiel closes his eyes and breathes in deep. He steps past Dean into the kitchen and puts the food and Gatorade on the counter. Dean follows him helplessly, drawn to the rain smell that grows thick with arousal so fast it leaves Dean reeling. 

“I won’t take advantage of you in this situation,” Castiel says, “no matter how much…” 

Dean doesn’t care. He stalks forward, backing Castiel against the counter, and leans down to nose at his neck, just behind his ear. “Can’t you tell I need you?” 

“You need -- you need --” 

Dean can tell the exact moment Castiel gives in. His eyes flash deep crimson and he bares his teeth, and then he’s shoving Dean backwards with his body until Dean’s back hits the fridge. Dean can feel his own eyes dark gray, pupils wide with arousal, and a fresh rush of wetness is probably soaking his robe. Castiel presses his face into Dean’s neck, kind of snuffling and kissing his way up Dean’s throat while Dean moans and pants and says, “Please please please.” 

“Please what?” Castiel says, biting at Dean’s jaw. 

“Please fuck me.” 

“Do you think you asked nicely enough?” 

Fuck. Dean moans again. He never could have imagined Castiel like this -- demanding and… _dominant_. “I need you,” Dean says. “Please.” To him, his voice sounds as desperate as he feels. 

“Hmmm,” Castiel says, and then his mouth finds Dean’s and they are kissing, hot and insistent, tongues touching and Dean moaning like a whore. 

Dean grabs Castiel’s hips and pulls him tight against him forcefully so he can feel Dean’s cock, rock hard and leaking, and it’s Castiel’s turn to moan. Castiel unties the belt around Dean’s waist and the robe slides open, revealing Dean’s soft belly and hard dick and the perked nubs of his nipples. That’s where Castiel goes first, using tongue and teeth on the right and then the left, alternating pinching and biting, and Dean arches towards him, barely able to keep his footing. 

“I need your cock in me,” Dean says. “Right now.” 

“Hmmm,” Castiel repeats. “Go to the bedroom. Hands and knees. Present for me.” 

Dean is in such a rush that he trips on a chair and nearly sends it toppling, but that doesn’t matter. All that matters is presenting for this alpha. The best-smelling alpha he’s ever met. 

He shrugs out of the robe, leaving it on the floor, and climbs into his bed, arching his back to present his ass high in the air, weight on his elbows. He hears Castiel putting food in the fridge and he can hardly handle the waiting. It’s too much. His body needs too badly. He’s too empty and tears form in his eyes. Inside his head he’s chanting alpha, alpha, alpha. 

Finally, Castiel enters the bedroom, his steps quiet on the hardwood. Dean and Sam installed the floor, did most of the renovations on Dean’s little eastside house. He’s proud for Castiel to see the beauty it has become. 

“You’re amazing,” Castiel says. He runs his hand down Dean’s flank, like calming a startled horse, and Dean lets go of the breath he was holding. “Just beautiful.” 

Dean fights this in his head but keeps his mouth shut. Behind him, he hears the rustle of fabric and turns his head to watch Castiel undress without fanfare. He folds his clothes up neatly and lays them on the dresser.

Naked, Castiel is a treat to be devoured. His body is lithe but well-muscled; his cock is big and proud, hard with just the bare beginnings of a knot at the base. Dean thrills at the idea that he has turned Cas on this much. 

“Condoms?” Castiel asks, and Dean whines. He doesn’t want condoms. He wants to feel Cas, hot and heavy, inside him. But he points to the drawer next to his bed anyway. Cas says, “Good boy,” and Dean shivers. 

With Castiel finally approaching, Dean turns his head back forward and shoves his face into the pillows. He can’t wait. He’s never wanted sex so bad, never had his head swim with it, but there’s a thunderstorm running a hand up his spine, and he nearly comes apart at the touch. “Cas,” he whines again.

Castiel swats his ass, just lightly, and says, “Be patient, Dean.” 

Dean bites at his lip until he tastes blood, and then Castiel is spreading open his cheeks. Dean can feel his heated stare on his hole, on the softest parts of him, on the slick now slipping and sliding down his balls to drip on the bed. “Come on,” Dean says, earning another swat to his ass, and then a two-fingered rough tap on his hole. He gasps and tries to squirm away, but Castiel’s other hand is holding tight to his hip, and Castiel says, “Stop,” so Dean does, breathing hard and waiting for the next punishment. What has he done to deserve this delicious torment? 

With the same lack of fanfare that he removed his clothes, Castiel steps up behind Dean and shoves his cock -- all of it, thick and long -- into Dean. 

Dean keens into the sheets, hands grappling for something to hold on to. He says, “Cas!” and Cas murmurs, “Dean,” more a moan than anything, and then Castiel is fucking him hard and fast. 

Now that it’s started, Castiel doesn’t waste any time. He fills and stretches Dean relentlessly, reaches around to grab Dean’s cock and stroke roughly. It only takes short minutes for Dean to come, but the orgasm seems to last forever, Castiel wringing more and more out of him with twists of his wrist. “Oh god, Cas, oh god, oh god,” Dean is chanting, pushing his hips back to meet Cas’s thrusts. 

“Can I --” Castiel’s breath stutters, the first sign that this is affecting him at all, and he tries again: “Can I knot you, Dean?” 

Dean practically screams, “Yes!” 

Castiel’s knot swells and catches inside Dean right before he comes, and his orgasm seems to go on forever, too, the hot spurts of it felt even through the k-condom. “Yes, yes, yes,” Dean keeps saying, until the word just blurs and slurs in his mouth and he’s not even sure what he’s agreeing to anymore, just agreeing with everything, Castiel inside him, Cas’s mouth at the back of his neck, Cas’s teeth and lips and tongue suckling and biting at Dean’s shoulder. He doesn’t break the skin. 

Carefully but awkwardly, Castiel adjusts them so they are lying on their sides in the bed, both still panting for breath. Castiel has one arm under his head and the other wraps around Dean, holding him impossibly close almost possessively, and he noses at the spot just behind Dean’s ear. “Smell so good,” Cas murmurs. 

“You too,” Dean says. He reaches backwards to grab Cas’s hip, try to pull him closer. He’s not meaning to ask for anything more than the comfort of skin-on-skin, but Castiel grinds deep and dirty inside him, and they both come again, though there’s barely anything left inside of Dean. 

“Wanted to have you the moment I scented you,” Cas says. He leaves a kiss at the spot he’d been nuzzling, then kisses the places along Dean’s shoulder where bruises will bloom by morning. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “me too.” 

Cas pulls back, and his voice is full of surprise. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” Dean mumbles. His eyes close and he struggles to stay awake. 

“But you’re so beautiful.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, not even sure what he’s agreeing to anymore. 

Castiel presses close again; Dean can feel a smile against the back of his neck. “Sleep, sweet omega,” Cas says.

“Will you be here…?” 

“Of course.” 

 

Dean wakes up alone in the bed, Castiel’s low voice speaking quietly in the other room. Cas is talking legal jargon. Dean sneaks into the bathroom for a shower and pulls on his robe before heading into the living room. 

Castiel smiles at him, just a small one, not at all like the smile he pressed against Dean’s skin while they were fucking. “Food,” he says, pointing to the noodles on the coffee table. There’s a big glass of red liquid, too. “And drink.” 

Dean is so grateful he could cry. He sits down and eats without worrying about how ugly he is stuffing his face and gulping Gatorade. Castiel watches with the smallest amusement on his face. 

Dean finishes quickly, burps, blushes, says, “Thank you. I haven’t eaten since -- not sure.” 

“How is your heat?” Castiel asks, reaching forward to lay the back of his hand against Dean’s forehead, a gesture so intimate and domestic, Dean can’t catch his breath. 

“It’s ok for now. You don’t have to stay.” 

“Do you want me to?” 

Dean licks his lips. He’s not sure what to say, so he settles on, “I don’t have anyone else.” 

 

Castiel admits he is secretly a Dr. Sexy fan, too, so they turn it on while waiting for the heat to flare. At some point Dean falls asleep again, and he wakes up with his head in Cas’s lap and Cas’s hand in his hair, stroking gently. 

“Hey,” Cas says quietly. The tv screen is black, Netflix asking if they want to continue watching. “You’re getting feverish again.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says. He sits up, looks at Cas in the dying light from the windows. Cas really is gorgeous, especially with all the stress-lines gone from his face, just blue eyes and the start of a beard and a tiny smile on his mouth. Dean leans in and kisses that smile. 

It’s just a gentle press of lips, and Castiel responds just as gently, his fingers still working through the shortest hairs on the back of Dean’s neck. Dean whimpers and presses in closer, feeling the itch start under his skin, goosebumps skittering up his arms. He opens his mouth for Cas’s tongue, welcomes it, and the next thing he knows, he’s straddling Castiel’s lap, Dean’s robe opening to show off his groin, dick already hard and expecting. 

“Yes,” Castiel says against Dean’s mouth, “ride my cock.” 

Dean struggles with Castiel’s pants. Cas has to help with hands and raising his hips; Dean finds himself on his knees between Castiel’s legs, which is maybe just where he wanted to be anyway. Castiel’s alpha cock is bigger than Dean remembers, flushed so deep it’s nearly purple. Dean leans forward to taste him, and Castiel lets out a guttural moan, gentle strokes turning to fists in Dean’s hair, pulling him closer. Dean would obey just about any command Castiel gave him, so he sucks his cock down as far as he can, down to the beginning of a knot, and starts sliding up and down, tongue pressed tight against the bottom of Cas’s cock. 

“Just like that,” Castiel says. When Dean glances up, Castiel’s eyes are open and watching him, and it makes Dean wetter, as if he wasn’t wet enough already. 

It doesn’t take long before the heat takes over. Dean clambers back into Castiel’s lap, guides the head of Cas’s cock to his hole, and pushes down slowly. The first breach -- the head of Castiel’s cock, that little pop feeling as it slides in -- is the best thing Dean has ever felt. Castiel’s moan seems to agree. 

Dean is out of practice, so his thighs start protesting almost immediately, but his heat doesn’t care, so he lifts himself up and down on Castiel’s perfect cock over and over, Castiel’s hands bracketing his hips, their mouths pressing together for rough kisses and nips at bottom lips. “You’re so good,” Castiel says, and Dean blushes all the way down to his toes. 

Dean’s wetness is slipping down Castiel’s cock, slicking up the beginning of his knot, and there’s an obscene noise every time their bodies meet. Dean can’t get enough. He arches his back and bares his neck and cries out when Castiel bites him -- not hard enough, not what Dean wants, but it’s still so fucking good, it pushes him that much closer to coming. 

It’s after they both come that Castiel’s face changes. “Shit,” he says, “no condom.” 

“I’m clear,” Dean says, kissing from Cas’s mouth along the curve of his cheekbone. 

“Me too.” Their eyes meet in the glow of the television. “But I’m never this irresponsible.” 

Dean has been irresponsible plenty, so he doesn’t say anything, just goes back to kissing Castiel’s face, using his mouth to map out all of his features, lovely and blue-tinged as the Playstation automatically shuts down, leaving the tv a blank blue screen. 

Castiel cradles Dean’s head in his hands and guides their mouths back together, and they kiss lazily, langerously, tongues touching and Dean rocking down against Castiel’s knot without conscious thought. “Feels good,” Dean says. 

“Feels amazing,” Castiel agrees. 

“Wish we could do this all the time,” Dean says, an admittance he would never make if he weren’t heat-drunk. 

Castiel’s sharp eyes bring him back to lucidity, and Dean says, “I mean -- I don’t mean --” 

“We could, though,” Cas says. “What’s stopping us?” 

Dean licks his lips. “I don’t know. Me? I’m not -- maybe you don’t know, but I’m not like you, I’m just a mechanic--” 

Castiel puts a finger over Dean’s mouth. “You’re perfect.” 

Dean dodges his gaze, face turning red. “No, I’m really not, Cas. ‘m really not.” 

“Then I don’t care if you’re perfect or not. I want you. Say I can have you.” 

A little shyly: “You can have me.” 

Castiel grins, wide and toothy. 

 

They fuck all weekend and through Monday. Castiel mentions that he never takes days off -- even when he’s sick -- and his secretary was shocked when he called her to let her know he wouldn’t be at work. Dean has to call in again and use heat leave; it shames him so deeply he can barely breathe through the phone call. 

“It’s ok,” Castiel says, stroking Dean’s hair. “All omegas have to use heat leave sometimes.” 

“Not me,” Dean says, “but I just -- I ran out of suppressants, and I thought it would be ok until I got paid again --” 

Castiel kisses him, gentle but deep. “You don’t have to justify yourself to me. And anyway, I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t go off them, so I have to say I’m a little glad.” 

Dean blushes pink and looks away. “Yeah, well.” 

“Look at me.” 

Dean does, feeling the blush deepen under Castiel’s intense gaze. 

“You’re not like anyone else,” Castiel says. “You’re so special. So special to me.” 

“You don’t even know me--” 

“I know your scent.” 

“Do you think…” Dean starts, nervously. “Do you think we scent bonded?” 

“I thought that much was obvious.” 

“That’s -- never happened to me before.” 

“Me either.” 

“It doesn’t mean anything, though, does it?” 

Castiel frowns. “It could, if you wanted it to.” 

“You’ll change your mind when I’m not in heat,” Dean says. 

“Not at all,” Castiel says. 

“It’s just because I let you knot me --” 

“Dean,” Castiel says, firmly. “I understand that you don’t think very much of yourself, but I know so much about you from Sam, and I know you’re a good man. I know you’re a man that I want. Let me want you.” 

Dean speaks quietly. “I want you, too.” 

“Then let me take you to dinner. Later in the week, when your heat is over.” 

Dean rubs the back of his neck. “Dinner,” he says. “I guess that can’t hurt anything.” 

 

Thursday, they have dinner at Dean’s favorite burger joint. They talk idly -- it’s easy to talk to Castiel, Dean finds, so easy that their food is only luke-warm by the time they dig in -- and Dean learns about Castiel’s family, his work, his habits and his vices. He drinks too much coffee, and he snores, and he does enough pro bono work to regularly get Talked To by the partners at Tran and Tran. Dean doesn’t see how this could possibly be a vice. 

Eventually they dig in to the food, and it’s a comfortable silence as they eat. Dean steals a couple of Castiel’s fries, and Castiel asks nicely for a piece of bacon from Dean’s burger after Dean raves about how good it is. Castiel pays, despite Dean’s objections, and grabs Dean’s hand as they head back to the car. 

Afterwards, Castiel invites Dean into his posh downtown condo. Dean is nervous, feels like he shouldn’t touch anything for fear that he’ll dirty it up, even though he scrubbed away at his hands until all the motor oil was gone before they went to dinner. 

Inside the door, Castiel crowds him backwards until he hits the couch, and Dean falls into it with a thump. Castiel crawls into his lap -- straddles him -- and says, “Is this ok?” 

“You were knotting me two days ago.” 

“You could change your mind,” Castiel says. 

“Kiss me,” Dean says. 

Castiel grins -- a rare wide, open smile -- and leans down to press his lips against Dean’s. It’s perfect, and it doesn’t take long before they are both half-hard and grinding against each other. 

In between kisses, Castiel slides his hands under Dean’s shirt to pinch and pull at his nipples, then pulls the shirt off completely. He kisses down Dean’s neck, sucking and licking at the purple bruises along Dean’s shoulders, then crawls on the floor to keep kissing down Dean’s chest, spending long moments with his tongue circling each nipple before biting gently. Dean is suddenly hard as rock and gasping. “Cas,” he moans. 

“Yeah,” Castiel says, and gives him a lecherous smile. “I’m going to make you feel so good.” 

“Want you,” Dean says. 

Castiel just kisses down the soft parts of Dean, and for once Dean doesn’t even feel shame about the belly he’s developed as he ages. At the top of Dean’s jeans, Castiel reaches out a hand and rubs it slowly along the shape of Dean’s hard on. “God,” Dean says, “yeah. Touch me, Cas.” 

Castiel undoes the button on Dean’s jeans, slides down the zipper, and tugs. Dean lifts his hips and his jeans are stripped off and thrown on the floor along with his boxers. 

Castiel stares at him, at his cock, like he’s something delicious. And then he leans forward and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the head of Dean’s dick. Dean knew this was coming -- a mouth on him, Castiel’s mouth on him -- but his breath still stutters and he throws his head back. “Fuck,” he says as Castiel takes the head in his mouth, suckling. “Yeah, suck me, Cas,” he says, suddenly lost in the feeling of a hot velvet mouth on him. 

Castiel doesn’t disappoint. He takes Dean’s cock in his mouth -- _all_ of it -- and swallows, his throat squeezing in a way that has Dean nearly coming right there, right out of the gate. It’s perfect, and Dean finds himself babbling, begging and encouraging and saying, “Right there, Cas, right there, oh god, I’m going to -- Cas, I’m going to come --” 

Castiel swallows Dean down, takes his cock into the back of his throat as Dean trembles and spurts, and Dean comes seeing stars. “Oh god,” he says as he comes down from the orgasm, staring at Castiel, still in between Dean’s knees, rubbing along the top of Dean’s thighs soothingly. 

“Good?” Castiel asks, smirking a little. 

“Fuck, yes,” Dean says. 

“I’ve been wanting to taste you since the moment I scented you,” Castiel says. 

Dean smiles and blushes and smiles some more. 

Castiel shifts up onto the couch, knees cracking, and pulls Dean’s hair to guide their mouths together. They kiss for a long time, until Dean can’t taste himself on Castiel’s tongue anymore, until Dean is getting hard again and pulling off Castiel’s clothes. 

“Take me to bed,” Dean says, “and fuck me.” 

It’s just as good as it was during Dean’s heat, except maybe more real, more immediate without the fog of heat-madness. Castiel is gentle but strong, and every time Dean opens his eyes, Castiel is looking down at him with a sense of wonder. 

Just before he comes, Dean leans his head back to show his neck and says, “Bite me, Cas, come on.” 

“Dean --” 

“Please,” Dean says. 

The movement of Castiel’s hips pauses as he scrapes his teeth down Dean’s throat. “Are you sure, Dean? Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” Dean says, panting. 

Castiel starts fucking him again, harder, faster, until Dean is crying out at every thrust. Right when Dean’s wavering at the peak of pleasure, about to plunge off the cliff, Castiel nuzzles against the place where his neck meets his shoulder, and then he’s biting down, hard, until the skin breaks, until he’s licking blood from his sharp canines. 

Dean comes immediately, harder than he ever has before, and Castiel comes forever inside him, tying them together. 

“You have to --” Castiel says. “Dean, you have to bite me, too.” 

“I know,” Dean says, leaning up to Castiel’s neck. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want --” 

“I do want.”

Something changes the moment Dean’s teeth break skin. He’s suddenly flooded with the scent of _mate-mate-mate_ , and he feels tied to Castiel more than just bodily, and he feels like his soul is floating away and finding a home in Castiel’s body. 

“Do you -- can you feel that?” Dean asks, breathless. 

“Yes,” Castiel says, his voice full of awe, and he stares down at Dean. “Mate,” he says, “my omega.” 

Dean smiles, agreeing, “My alpha.”

**Author's Note:**

> [reallyelegantsharkfish](http://reallyelegantsharkfish.tumblr.com) on tumblr


End file.
